Knights: The Blood of Kings (Knights Series)

by Robert E. Keller

  "I reject your challenge," said Lannon, gazing back defiantly. "Kill me if you must, but I won't fight you for the amusement of the crowd."

  Verlamer's hands knotted into fists. "You will fight me. Or I will carry out the executions at once and force you to witness them."

  "I won't do it," said Lannon.

  The king's face turned crimson. "I'm offering you a chance to kill me in battle, and you refuse it? Are you that much of a fool?"

  "Such a duel would be evil," said Lannon, "and I am a Divine Knight. I won't fight just so you can try to enhance your reputation and prove your might. I only fight for a greater cause."

  Lannon could see he was provoking the king, but where would it lead? How could Verlamer possibly get him to fight if he refused?

  "Fight for your survival, then," snarled Verlamer, "as your friends did. Surely that is a worthy cause."

  "I'd rather not," said Lannon, pressing on. "I prefer to die." This wasn't true, but the king had no way of knowing that.

  "Very well," said Verlamer. "I know for a fact you cannot defeat me. Therefore, if you win, I will withdraw my army from Dremlock and never trouble this kingdom again--provided it does not trouble me. What say you?"

  Lannon hesitated, not wanting to appear too eager. "You would offer that reward for a chance to fight me in honorable combat?"

  "I will put it in writing!" the king growled.

  Lannon didn't reply, and the king grew more anxious.

  "Well?" said Verlamer. "What say you? Surely you can't be that stupid! Or are you simply afraid of me? Have I underestimated your courage?"

  "I'm not afraid," said Lannon. "Freeing my kingdom is a noble cause. If my friends are not harmed, I will agree to this duel. But if I win, I want all of our items--including the White Flamestone--returned to us."

  "It is done," said Verlamer. "We have agreed to honorable combat. My dream of slaying a Dark Watchman shall at last be realized!"

  As if in response, a wolf howled in the woods.

  Now all Lannon had to do to save Dremlock was defeat a man who some considered to be as powerful as a god and who could pluck burning daggers out of the air. Yet Lannon had defeated Tenneth Bard and the Hand of Tharnin, and those victories gave him confidence.

  "There is just one issue," said Verlamer. "The Lords and Ladies will be adamantly opposed to a duel of blades, considering your reputation. And even though I have the final say, they find ways to make me miserable if I refuse them. So in order to make this work, we shall have to battle with fists. Do you agree?"

  Lannon didn't like the sound of that. It would put him at quite a disadvantage to the huge king. But considering what was at stake, he couldn't refuse. "I accept."

  "Good," said Verlamer. "We can begin with swords--just for show. No fatal blow will be struck. Then we will toss aside our blades and the real duel will begin. The battle will end when one of us is unable to fight on."

  Lannon nodded.

  "And now I will admit the truth," said Verlamer. "I've been keeping you in the dark about something, Lannon. The battle for Dremlock is not over. We have not entirely secured the kingdom, and Vesselin's order of surrender has been ignored by some. There has been quite of bit of fighting in the tunnels below the kingdom, and after our meeting in Dremlock Hall, Taris Warhawk escaped from his cell in the dead of night. I'm still trying to determine how he succeeded. I do know that he has gone below--probably to join with the Dark Knights. This troubles me greatly."

  Lannon wasn't surprised that Taris had managed it. He seemed to have reached a skill level similar to that of the Birlote Wizards, and any dungeon cell would be hard pressed to contain him. Had Lannon known this, he would have opted to escape and go below to join with Taris. Obviously, the sorcerer felt there was still a chance of liberating the kingdom.

  Lannon groaned. Now, instead of escaping into the mines to help with the war effort, he was bound by honor to fight a duel he could easily lose.

  "Taris must believe he can drive me out," said Verlamer, "and then fortify the wall. All without the help of the White Flamestone. That sorcerer knows something that he would share with no one. I could see it in his eyes. There is something greater lurking below Dremlock than the Dark Knights. Taris Warhawk is far too confident. I noticed it from the moment I took him prisoner, yet tormenting the truth out of him would have been impossible. Birlote sorcerers do not yield to pain. Yes, this war is not over. Dremlock still has a plan to prevail, and I will discover it."

  Lannon had no idea what that plan might be. All he knew was that Vesselin had surrendered and everyone had been taken captive. If there was a plan, as Verlamer believed, it was likely known only to Cordus Landsaver and his Tower Masters. They were the ones ultimately charged with protecting Dremlock, and they seldom shared their secrets. Yet Dremlock had centuries to prepare for invasion, and Lannon couldn't begin to guess at what was taking shape in the tunnels below.

  "What a waste," said Verlamer, shaking his head. "I was going to place you at the top, Lannon--with only myself ranked above you. You could have done so much for this land. Now you will die, bruised and bloodied. No mortal can defeat me in a duel of fists." He shrugged. "At least you will die with honor, and when you do--for all to see--maybe it will drain the will from those who still fight on in the name of the Divine Essence. Regardless, I will take great pleasure in defeating you."

  King Verlamer's insanity and ego had once again led him to risk everything to prove a point. This was the opportunity Taris had spoken of while standing shackled in Dremlock Hall. Taris had guessed what was coming. All across Gallamerth, Verlamer had conquered kingdoms and won duels. There was no one more feared than this mighty tyrant. Now he'd come to Dremlock to test his power against the Eye of Divinity. If he defeated Lannon, his reputation would grow.

  Somehow, Lannon had to put a stop to this madness--for the sake of Gallamerth and even the lands beyond the sea. Lannon now bore the ultimate, crushing burden, and if he failed to win the duel, countless people might suffer as a result.

  Chapter 25: The Grand Duel

  It was another perfect day for a duel, warm and sunny, with a pleasant breeze blowing across the North Tower Courtyard. As before, there was much merrymaking prior to the duel--though the Lords and Ladies seemed sullen and troubled as they sat at their tables, no doubt hating the thought of what was to come. Once again King Verlamer sat by Lannon, though his demeanor had changed. His mood seemed grim and focused. A platter of meat sat before him, which he ripped into with his pointed teeth and washed down with water.

  It had been six days since Lannon had agreed to battle the king. Lannon had spent each day in his cell, wondering what was occurring with Taris and the Dark Knights. He'd received adequate food and drink, but he'd been eaten alive by restlessness, pacing about in his cell.

  Lannon nibbled at a piece of fish and waited for Verlamer to speak. But the king just went on feasting, bearing his sullen expression.

  "How are things going?" Lannon finally asked.

  Verlamer looked up. "Well, I convinced them to allow the duel, but they are very displeased. We had to make certain preparations in the event of my demise. It was a very ugly and time-consuming affair. I've gotten little sleep since our discussion in the forest. Some have lost faith in me and would rather see my pathetic excuse for a son take over the throne." He tugged at his beard anxiously, his eyes distant with thought. "I think what is needed is an execution or two to remind them of who is in charge of Bellis. Such a strategy has worked well in the past."

  Lannon looked away, overcome with disgust. Aside from his love of fishing and history, all the king ever seemed to think about were duels, executions, and invasions. He plotted against those who undoubtedly plotted against him. It was a wretched way of life that turned humans into nothing more than pawns.

  "How is the war below Dremlock progressing?" asked Lannon, unable to contain himself any longer.

  The king glared at him. "You tell me, oh Bearer of the Eye."

/>   "I can't see that far," Lannon admitted.

  "It doesn't matter," said Verlamer, waving dismissively. "All you should be focused on is the forthcoming duel." Then he added, "Bellis is always fighting wars. And we always will be fighting wars, until no one is left to conquer."

  "What will you do then?" asked Lannon, genuinely curious.

  The king looked uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and adjusted his robe and cape. "I'm not sure. Perhaps what will matter then are the duels. Really, they are all that matter anyway. Two blades clashing in combat is the same as two-thousand. I am in a duel of wits with Taris Warhawk, who has surprised me with his resilience. Soon I will be in a duel with you, Lannon. It makes no difference who I fight. All that matters is that I win and live to fight again."

  "What about your family?" asked Lannon. "Wouldn't you prefer a more peaceful life? How do your wife and children feel about what you do?"

  Verlamer frowned. "As I said, my son is worthless and wishes me dead. And I had my wife imprisoned shortly after he was born. Why? Because she tried to undermine my power and showed me unforgivable disrespect. She had sympathy for my enemies. She died in that cold prison, and good riddance to her. No woman will get that close to me again."

  Strangely enough, Lannon pitied the king. In spite of being surrounded people all of the time, his world was as cold and barren as his heart. He was so vile and manipulative he couldn't help but be alone. Anyone who got close to him was a threat to his power and had to be dealt with--even his own wife. Lannon realized that if he would have joined Verlamer's cause, sooner or later the king would have viewed him too as a threat and tried to eliminate him.

  Verlamer produced a document and handed it to Lannon. "This is the written agreement concerning the duel. Read it carefully and, if you are so inclined, add your signature. I know you are honor-bound to partake in the duel regardless, but I said I would put it in writing and I have honored my word." Verlamer slid a pen and ink bottle over to Lannon.

  Lannon studied the agreement and found it brief but suitable. It read:

  Honorable Duel

  Participants: Verlamer the Just (King of Bellis) and Lannon Sunshield (Divine Knight of Dremlock and famed Dark Watchman).

  Location: The North Tower Courtyard, Dremlock Kingdom.

  Time and date: Noon, 1219, Year of the Hawk

  Until death, submission, or inability to rise.

  Rewards:

  King Verlamer's life and Lannon Sunshield's goods and, if slain, his remains.

  The liberation of Lannon Sunshield's Kingdom of Dremlock, including the return of all seized items, for an indefinite time period (provided that Dremlock not interfere with the affairs of Bellis).

  Signed... Verlamer the Just

  Signed...

  Since honorable duels were typically a spoken agreement rather than a written one, Lannon wasn't sure why the king had even bothered. If Verlamer chose to break his word, the document would be meaningless.

  Nevertheless, Lannon signed.

  "Excellent," said Verlamer, seizing the document. He handed another copy to Lannon. "This is for you to keep, so we each have one."

  Lannon signed again below the king's signature. He now had proof of his forthcoming duel, for whatever that was worth.

  As Verlamer studied Lannon's signature and smiled, Lannon realized the truth, and a cold shiver ran down his spine. Verlamer had written out the agreement because he wanted a trophy to add to his collection, a trophy that would be displayed alongside Lannon's sword--and maybe even Lannon's skull.

  ***

  The preparations for this duel were different. The pit of spikes was filled with dirt, and a square wooden platform was built to define the arena where the contest would take place. Banners displaying the Crest of Bellis and the Crest of Dremlock stood at the arena corners.

  Verlamer had sent messages throughout Silverland stating that this duel was a fight for the freedom of Dremlock Kingdom, and many people had arrived to watch--most of them hoping Lannon would be victorious. Wooden seats for the onlookers had been erected, going up several rows. The usual shackled prisoners were also present, including the winners of the previous duels. Verlamer's Dragon lay atop a vine-covered balcony of the North Tower, high above everyone else, his yellow eyes fixed on the scene below in anticipation of the duel.

  The great drum sounded as Verlamer and Lannon stepped up onto the oaken boards. The crowd was much larger this time, and many of them had consumed wine and ale in abundance (which was free for those who had come to watch). They were loud and aggressive, stomping their feet and shouting for whichever warrior they hoped would win. They were hungry for bloodshed.

  The reality of the situation struck Lannon hard--as it always did just before a duel--that this might be the day of his death. But he calmed himself and embraced the fact that he was a Divine Knight and a Dark Watchman. He raised the hood of his Birlote cloak, retreating into himself--into the shadows, in an effort to embrace who and what he was. His Dragon sword was handed to him, and it felt good to grasp it again. Verlamer was given a jeweled sword with a long, golden blade, which he wielded with two hands--the Royal Sword of Bellis.

  A Bard dressed in white and crimson played a brief tune on a flute and then cried out "The Royal Sword of Bellis versus the Kingdom Sword of Dremlock!"

  The crowd roared with approval, and flasks were raised.

  It was not true, however, since Lannon's sword was not the Kingdom Sword (which was made of Troll bones rather than Dragon bones). It was designed to look like the Kingdom Sword, however, and that was good enough for the Bard.

  The Bard went on: "The Blood of Kings versus the Eye of Divinity! The greatest king to ever live versus the greatest warrior on Gallamerth! The last True King versus the last true Dark Watchman!"

  The crowd went into a drunken frenzy.

  The great drum sounded several times like thunder.

  "Let the best warrior feast in victory tonight!" the Bard screamed with such energy that his voice cracked. He waved his feathered hat at the crowd and then dove headfirst from the platform. He did a somersault and then leapt to his feet, pointing his flute at the crowd, to deafening cheers.

  A host of beautiful dancers adorned in colorful silk moved around the outside of arena, twirling for the crowd. Then they moved away--replaced by four Guardians who were on hand to make sure things were fair. The Guardians flanked a Thallite giant, who blew a huge ivory horn. Then the Thallite sat down so he wouldn't block the view of some of the onlookers.

  And then the battle was underway.

  "Let's trade a few blows," Verlamer mumbled. "Make it look good."

  Lannon drove in and their blades clashed together. Then they stepped apart, with the king striking a battle pose for the crowd.

  "This is magnificent!" he said. He winked at Lannon. "It is worth dying for."

  "No, it isn't," said Lannon.

  Verlamer laughed. "Yet you chose death in this arena over a wonderful life at my side, ruling all the land."

  In response, Lannon did a swift spin move--advancing on Verlamer like a whirlwind. But he only attacked the king's blade. Verlamer swung at Lannon's neck in response--a relatively slow move that Lannon easily ducked.

  They stepped apart again, circling each other.

  "Just to remind you," said Verlamer, "that when we cast away our swords, the battle becomes real. I do intend to kill you."

  "Understood," said Lannon. Verlamer would have to strike the fatal blow when Lannon was standing, however, since the duel allowed for defeat by simply being unable to rise. But from the look on the king's face, Verlamer believed he was easily capable of doing just that.

  They traded more blows, and Lannon sighed. He wondered how long this play fighting would continue. He was anxious to get to the real thing and find out whether or not he was a match for Verlamer.

  "One more brilliant move, Lannon," said the king, "and then we shall discard our swords. Try to flip over my head."

 
His Birlote cloak billowing in the breeze, Lannon charged the king. He knocked Verlamer's long blade aside and, using the Eye, leapt up and flipped over Verlamer. It was a spectacular leap over the towering king, though it took a great deal of energy. When Lannon landed on his feet behind Verlamer and spun around, the crowd went berserk. The move was pointless other than for show, but it accomplished what Verlamer wanted and hopefully they could now get on with the duel.

  Verlamer whirled around, grinning with delight. He held up his sword for the crowd, then tossed it out of the arena. The onlookers booed in uncertainty, perhaps thinking Verlamer was calling off the duel.

  Lannon raised his own blade, then discarded it.

  The crowd jeered and yelled insults. One drunken fool even dared throw a wine flask at the arena--and he was quickly sought out by guards and given a swift beating for his efforts that left him bruised and dazed.

  Then Verlamer raised his fists, and the boos turned back into cheers.

  Lannon raised his own, flooding himself with the Eye.

  "Now it begins," said Verlamer. "Defend yourself!"

  The two fighters moved in and traded blows, and in a matter of seconds Lannon realized the grim truth--that Verlamer was possibly too fast, too skilled, and too strong for him. Lannon failed to land a single blow, but the king struck Lannon three times. The blows were vicious from Verlamer's huge, bony fists, leaving Lannon dazed and battered as he backed away.

  "How does that feel?" said Verlamer, cracking his knuckles as he circled Lannon. "Did you like that, boy? I've got some more for you."

  Lannon gazed at the king in shock. In an instant, the playful duel had turned sinister, and now Lannon was struggling to figure out how he would survive. He had pain in his shoulder and his ribs from the king's punches.

  Verlamer kissed his knuckles and then motioned to him. "Come and get it, Dark Watchman. Whenever you're ready."

  Lannon needed time to think, but there was no time. If he didn't charge Verlamer, then Verlamer would charge him--and Lannon wasn't sure he could stay on his feet through another flurry of blows. Again he drove the Eye into his fists and flung himself at Verlamer. He launched a mighty uppercut at the king's chin, but connected only with air. Verlamer was like a fleeting shadow moving away from the light. Lannon couldn't manage to touch him.